


Random Prompts

by Aqua_Diamond2904



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 09:27:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aqua_Diamond2904/pseuds/Aqua_Diamond2904
Summary: Just some short quirky stories that evolved from simple prompts.A lot of these were practice for exams:)





	1. Gothic - The Demon's Curse

Stories say that our village is cursed. These stories have been passed down from generation to generation; Our village is cursed. The man who owned the manor overlooking the village was said to have summons demons to the mortal world. However, The Demons could not be detained and the man perished by their hands. But the demons wanted more, and cursed the village. The Families in the village could not leave. Others from outside the village could come and go as they pleased, but the original family blood lines in the village the day it was cursed could not leave; This was more than enough souls for the demons to feed upon.  
To keep the village safe, sacrifices were made to please the beings in the manor, human sacrifices, as they found that the demons did not like animals to feast on. They would be taken to the manor at night, the only time safe enough for a guide to get close enough.  
Most of the sacrifices were orphans who had nothing left to live for and hadn't inherited any wealth from family. No one knew what happened once they were passed the tall obsidian gates surrounding the manor, though small body parts were found just outside the manor like a finger or toe.  
One sacrifice even made it to the village the day after he was offered. The man had just lost his family when their house was set alight; He had nothing to live for and was offered. When he got to the village in the morning he was but a shell of his past self. He stumbled around the square muttering nonsense about his dead wife and baby daughter. Many tried to talk to him, but it was like his soul had been taken. That is what everyone believed happened beyond the manor gates.

This months sacrifice was a seven-year-old girl named Emily, who had just lost the last family she had, her mother. The only things she had left were the clothes on her back and and a small locket she had gotten from her mother on her seventh birthday.  
The inky black night was covered with stormy thunder clouds as lightning flashed across the sky whilst Emily treaded up to the manor, Gates looming over, trapping her in. The doors creaked and she pushed them open, letting in the heavy rain as she struggled to close them.  
_"Emily~"_  
The sacrifice turned hesitantly, confused.  
"H-hello?"  
_"Emily, come back to me~"_  
Emily jumped, the voice was closer and a lot clearer than before. She recognised the voice.  
"M-mum?! Is that you?"  
She ran down the hallway, momentarily forgetting where she was.  
_"I'm here sweetheart, just a little closer~"_  
There she was, as healthy as she was months ago. Emily's eyes watered, her throat had suddenly become dry making it hard to swallow.  
_"Come here, you have been so brave~"_  
Emily jumped into her mothers arms, burrowing her face, allowing the tears to flow freely. She didn't notice the shadows grow taller and more humanoid, creeping closer.  
"H-how? I-I thought you-"  
_"It's alright now sweetheart, it's over now."_  
The shadows pounced, but Emily welcomed the painless death. She smiled into her mothers arms, even as her mother became one with the shadows, keeping a tight grip on her.  
The demons may have taken her life, but tonight they were merciful.

The next morning the only thing people found was the little girl's locket entangled with one of the gate poles.


	2. Post-Apocalyptic - Descriptive focus

The chairs were mangled, rough and covered in a thin layer of dust. Feet patterned on the wooden planks as breathless giggles escaped the figure. April weaved through the sea of seats, occasionally halting to rummage through the sides, revealing old chocolate bars or round circles of metal (she thinks there's something etched into them, but she can't be sure) she had taken to calling rollers. She sat on the stage, rows upon rows of empty spaces facing her. Cross-legged, she would spin the rollers until they spun in circles around her, noises bouncing off of the auditorium, filling the silence for a few blessed seconds.

Because the silence was what April hated the most.

Her chuckles faded, her eyes skimming over the empty spaces before her and spotting ghastly sights. A crumpling heap with a hand outstretched to the exit, faded brown stains smearing the floor in morbidly intricate patterns.  
She remembers clapping, followed by roars of the masses. Confusion.  
Panic. Harsh pants, screams, louder and louder and _**too much noise.**_

April blinked. The world wasn't silent, but the rollers laid flat on the platform. April stood, an inquiring hum escaping her throat. She scooped up her equipment and clambered off the stage. Her father's scanner blinked steadily in her hands, indicating that she was safe. For now at least. She perked up as she heard a scuffling, accompanied by a high pitched squeak. She glided past the seats, making her way to the entrance before the scanner started beeping erratically. She started, glancing down at the device and then the rough, bubbling skin of her arms, remembering what happened last time she ignored its warning and ventured outside. She slowed to a halt, biting her lip as she weighed her options. The beeps weren't fast enough to be a serious threat to her life yet, and her dad always said she was too curious for her own good. She cautiously stepped through the threshold to the waiting area of the theatre. Empty stalls wafting a foul, decaying odour through the air, reaching her and causing her nose to scrunch up in disgust. She considered turning around and marching back to the stage, before she heard the strange squeak again, originating from one of the stalls. She tiptoed, holding her breath and rounded the corner, confronted by a strange wriggling glob on the ground.  
It was sniffling, whiskers twitching and small pitiful whimpers escaping it. What should have been a fluffy coat and springy cotton-ball tail were matted down with blood and grime. It's wide glassy eyes stared up at her, pleading and hazy with pain - There was a barbed wire tangled around its neck, the metal claws digging into its soft skin, slowly but surely strangling the animal while slow trickles of red dripped onto the floor.  
It wouldn't live long, it would be best to just put it out of its misery, even if it would've been nice to have someone to fill the silence.  
Besides, she was running low of rations, this strange creature might last her weeks


	3. Humour Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'My career on stage was short but it was certainly memorable'

My career on stage was short but it was certainly memorable, at least.   
It all started when I decided to be a nice person, for once, and help out a friend. Who knows what had possessed me at the time for me to actually agree with his insane plan to rise to fame.   
"Oh come on Elle, it'll be great! Just you wait, everyone's eyes will be on us, they'll be mesmerised by our talent"  
Well at least that part went to plan, everyone's eyes were on us.  
Maybe I realised beforehand how terrible it would all go wrong, I had begun to feel the knot in my chest tightening backstage, a sense of dread welling up inside. I, stupidly, had simply shaken it off as nerves. Which was suspicious, now that I think about it, I've never been anxious before a crowd before.   
"Adrian and Elle? You're up"  
We'd looked up, sprung to our feet and marched onstage, carrying equipment that if seen on the streets, people would've thought we were the faces behind the murderous clowns seen around town. I wonder how I could've ever thought this was a good idea.   
I wasn't really there to be anything but an assistant, looking pretty and professional for the audience and not really doing anything but being there as moral support.   
At this point, Adrian had gone through most of his tricks, nimble fingers weaving through sharp blades so close to slicing his skin that the audience inhaled sharply at each throw. He bowed, placed the blades on a collapsable tables before he moved onto the next part of the act. I stepped forward, ready to help set the equipment and play the role of the helpful assistant. This was when everything falls apart.  
Adrian faltered with a particular heavy piece of the box, which landed with a bang on the stage floor, and unfortunately Adrian's foot. The corner of the box nicked the table and sent the blades up into the air. Time seemed to slow down. I watched the knives sail gracefully towards Adrien, who's face is twisting in agony as he flinched from the pain in his foot. My feet were off the ground in an instant, my body twisted in front of Adrian and hand flung up in milliseconds. My brain was screamed at me, wether in anticipation of the pain or the sweet release of death I couldn't decipher in that moment.   
The audience had silenced, wide eyed at the display in front of them. Adrian was frozen, gaping with his jaw unhinged at the sight. I was breathing heavily, my hands wavered in front of me as I stared, stunned. Four knives were grasped in my hands, rough and scarred from practice. One blade faced me, the cold metal pressed against my fingers, threatening to cut the thin skin then and there. The fifth knife was embedded in the box lying precariously against the table, a mere centimetre from Adrian's foot. My heart was pounding, but I ignored my mini heart attack in favour of rounding on Adrian, scowling and ready to lecture him for a full hour in front of an enormous audience.  
"What did I tell you about leaving the kni-"   
I was cut off by a tremendous applause, the judge stood up from his seat looking quite amazed. Adrian snapped his head towards them, a grin slowly grew on his face. He stepped forward, back dipping as he prepared to bow. Unbelievable.  
"Thank you, Thank you!" He cheered, his voice drifted through the crowd.  
"An amazing performance young man, I'll hope you're coming back for the next round in August" The judge had beamed, his hands clapped furiously.   
"Absolutely, we'll be ther-" Adrian choked, his hands flailed as I snagged him around the collar.  
"NO" I screamed shrilly, the audience winced from the pitch. I started to drag Adrian offstage, like an angry lioness scolding her cub and grabbing them by the scruff of his neck.   
"No we will not be coming again! You almost died you should be glad I have practice if you had asked anyone else you would've been a sheesh kabab right in front of the audience! Oh I knew it I knew this was a bad idea I should've stopped this from the start!" I rambled, exasperated. I pushed the double doors open roughly, stormed out of the theatre, and let the doors slam behind us, sending vibrations through the building that no doubt had the audience inside shuddering.  
Yeah, so the teaching behind all this is that you should never try to be nice to friends, it will only lead to heart attacks and a lifetime of stress.


	4. A Fresh Start

The air was fresh in the cool winter's night, a soft breeze drifting through the quiet neighbourhood. The lampposts bathed the paths in warming embers, a soft buzzing heard in the silence.   
It was peaceful, everyone in bed, snoring away and blissfully unaware of what was happening right down the road.  
'Seriously?! I just got this dry-cleaned!'   
Sarah cursed as she patted her jacket, trying to dislodge any grains of dirt stuck to it. She scowled when she found a large tear in the back; there was no way she was going to be able to salvage it.  
'This was my favourite jacket!' She swivelled around to the culprit, a moaning heap on the ground.   
She had gone a month living here undetected, peaceful and enjoying a break from running from enemies. She had really started to think she could make it through the year this time, but then someone decided to but into her life.  
Oh well, at least he's learnt his lesson....or at least is going to.  
With her eyes narrowed, she marches towards the crumpled pile, who was now scrambling the get up, reaching back under his own jacket that most likely concealed a weapon. Before his hand could get anyway near to his onto chance of success, he stumbles as a sudden force snaps his head to the side, sending ruby ribbons twisting to the pavement. There he lay still, strings cut. His murky blue eyes glassy like they'd been polished recently, a chip in his ear peaking out from dark matted down locks.   
Sarah huffed, glancing around just in case a foolish teenager had decided to sneak out tonight, then glared down at the back of her hands, blooming with an abstract of blue and purple, splatters of Crimson barely noticeable. She stomped towards the corpse, kneeling down briefly to yank the ankle and drag it towards a less noticeable place, muttering under her breath the whole way.  
'I thought I'd been doing a great job so far. The friendly, helpful young woman who moved to just get away from the past. Nothing suspicious about that in any way! But no, apparently that wasn't enough, I should've dyed my hair blonde and cake my face with makeup as well!' She grumbled, eye twitching when she almost tripped on a crooked crowbar with a spare piece of leather from her jacket pierced at the tip.   
'Honestly you would've thought they'd got the hint by now, they don't own me. They're like that one clingy boyfriend that got a stake through the heart.'   
Sarah finally reached some dumpsters, hidden in the darkness of a grimy alleyway. She grunted as she heaved the limp casing of her opponent over her shoulder and flipped it into the waste, reminiscent of their earlier encounter. She wrinkled her nose at the smell before turning on her heel sharply with a grumble.  
'Well at least he's where he belongs now'  
Hopping into her truck, she sighed and glanced at the back seats, where a lone bag lay. Her only meaningful possessions. At least she wouldn't have to waste time and go back to the house. Again she exhaled, sweeping her gaze towards the window, looking towards the peaceful neighbourhood glowing warmly as the sun peaked out from the horizon. 

She was really going to miss this town, she had actually started to enjoy her time here. She could genuinely say this has been some of the best days of her life, the sense of normalcy was quite refreshing.   
So much for a fresh start.


	5. '...and it was difficult to keep my face straight'

The sky was bright, streaking sun rays down to the ground. It wasn't hot, but it wasn't cold either. It was just...nice. The buildings of San Francisco were bright, almost glowing beacons reaching up towards the sky. The greenery couldn't have been greener. A murmur of chatter could be heard on the street, the occasional car horn beeped in the distance. Laughter drifted through the city, harmonious; music worthy of Apollo himself. Perfect.  
Disgusting.  
I wanted to be angry, furious with the city that continued as normal, like nothing was wrong. I wanted to scream, yell, have the moment to just be. Instead I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket, curling inwards the tiniest bit. I stared blankly at the plot in front of me, the dirt newly dug. The people around me stood silent, a vivid contrast to the city around us. I'm sure some of them were shooting sympathetic looks my way, as if they understood. It only made me angrier, a scowl trying to make its way to the surface.  
_It's not fair._  
I went stiff abruptly, feeling a deep burn behind my eyes.  
_It's not fair._  
My vision blurred, but no tears fell. Through the murky gaze I could've sworn I saw a figure, slouched casually and head thrown back no doubt cackling to the clouds at the cheesy pun escaping his own lips. He was brilliant, a nerdy genius. He had a bright future ahead of him. He was going to change the world, do something that would make everyone turn to look. Make me proud, smugly boast 'That's my brother'.  
_It should've been me._  
My breath hitched faintly, stuck for a moment in my lungs like toffee. It wasn't like I was going anywhere, he was the one with the plans, the positivity. I was sure they were still pinned up in his room with bright red investigation strings. Distantly, I thought that someone was speaking, and my glazed eyes flitted upwards to see Jax. The normally quirky teen, so much like my brother, was now sombre, his stare fixed upon no one. He looked awful, sooty smears under his eyes, and when I looked closer I could see the usually steady hands were shaking. He wrung his hands together, pausing his speech for a brief instance, but momentarily exposing bone white lines on his wrists, slightly red as if irritated recently. I jolted suddenly, remembering that my brother wasn't just my anchor. He was Jax's first friend, pushed him out of his comfort zone and being his sole confider of his troubled past. It made me shudder again, rooted to the spot.  
_It should've been me._  
People started to leave, one of them brushed up against my shoulder in an act of support, despite the fact my knees buckled underneath me.  
"How are you holding up, dear?" It was a kind old lady I barely registered as our neighbour who constantly checked up on us at home. I recalled my brother helping her with the shopping in return, always with a beaming smile on his face. I recalled doing the same because my brother felt ill that morning, giggling as she chatters about her nephew.  
I recalled returning home, only to find the bathroom door ajar, dull blue capsules scattered across the floor.  
A dead, glassy blue.  
"I'm fine...I'm managing"  
....and it was difficult to keep my face straight.


	6. Dystopian - A time you broke something

  
The clock ticked by, echoing off the grey walls ominously; the only sound that could always be heard. My heels clacked on the cold marble as I hurriedly strode past, pristine lab coat slightly lifted in the breeze. I fumbled with the paper I was holding, flicking to a beige file. I reached a single metallic door that slid open with a hiss, and I took the moment to compose myself and nudged my glasses upwards.  
'The files, Sir.' I shifted, handing the file over to the lone figure in the room.  
There were no chairs, no desks. The only light source being the standard luminescent tubes bolted to the ceiling like glowing prison bars. Barren, except for the complex control panels and a sole glass pane. The figure doesn't respond, only opening the file to scan its contents. His eyebrows twitched to signal his displeasure, making me shrink back for the slightest of moments. He sighed, for a brief second he almost sounded remorseful, but I knew better.  
'It seems as though this...trial has yielded no results. Could you please clean up this mess for me my dear?' He phrased it as a question, but it was clearly an order. I stiffened, glancing towards the glass before quickly averting my gaze to the ground.  
'Of course, sir.' I murmured, ducking my head and making my way to the console in front of the glass. Distantly I acknowledged the strident of the 'boss' and the cold hiss as the door closed behind him. Only then did I exhale a shuddering breath, allow my heart to beat erratically and my hands to tremble.  
I took a second to brace myself, then looked up through the glass. On the other side was a curled up ball of rags, barely breathing with their legs tucked into their chest. They looked almost like a child in that position, scared and innocent. They had attempted to do the same with their head, but the thick metal ring encapsulating their neck prevented them from doing so.  
I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes. I tried to distant myself, my hands lingering on the buttons on the console.  
It's just an experiment.  
I'm doing my job.  
I'm doing this for my family.  
_It's not my fault._  
The button pulsed a vivid red, mirroring that of the collar. The body jolted, head snapping up to attention as a flash of panic made it's way onto their face. They jumped up, revealing their malnourished figure, making the dirty rags covering them sag. I tilted my head to the side, not wanting to see the sight of the subject, but then forced myself to look.  
They deserved that at least, in their last moments to not be alone.  
They started to shout hoarsely, choking when the metal expels a thick silver liquid into their throat, some of it trickling down. They collapsed, convulsing violently, cracking their head on the cold floor; with their mouth gaping but no words escaping the blocked airway. For a split second, his head snapped to the side and his eyes caught mine, wide with terror. I could feel myself flinch, but continued to maintain eye contact, hoping to convey the utter hopelessness I felt.  
_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._  
The boy, barely a man, finally stilled, a silver trail making its way out of his mouth. His eyes were hazy and glazed while the silver of neck that could be seen was raw and irritated. His chest was still instead of heaving for air whilst his hand remained outstretched as though seeking some form of comfort. His limbs were sprawled out, askew like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly severed. His porcelain skin was marred with silver lines, cracks webbing out across his body.  
Broken.


	7. The Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Write about a time you were let down by a friend'

  
The room was frigid, plunged in darkness and the silence deafening. Nothing was out of place, trinklets laid out on the lone shelf with only a single wooden carving out of place, lying slanted; a little angel with splintered feathers. The bed had not a single crease in it, iron pressed but rough.

  
The door slid open with a hiss, artificial light illuminated the opening and streaked out into the darkest corner of the room. A lone figure trudged inside, heavy duty boots clanking on the floors as they reached the bed before they heaved themselves onto it. They suppressed a groan when brittle bones ground harshly against each other, only a slight whimper escaping them. Mud begun to spill of the boots, staining the pristine sheets, but the figure remained oblivious, staring sightlessly at the metal ceiling, still caught up in earlier events. They could still hear the shouting, curses spat at a fleeing shadow as a shower of bullets followed it closely behind. They could still see the terror in their friend, their former friend, before eyes hardened with resolve and he sprinted past the boundaries separating them from the enemy. And most importantly they could remember the fiery sting as the return fire grazed their side, nothing compared to the frigid chill that ran through them like they had been dunked into a winter lake.

  
They growled, swinging their fist into the wall where a large bang resonated, no doubt heard throughout the base. Faintly they realised they were breathing too heavily, body shaking with rage and something else they could not make out. They should have seen the signs, the uncomfortable glances their friend had shot towards the training range, their poorly disguised wince when a shot rung out.

  
And to think, they had started to trust them. After months of perseverance, irritating conversations and surprise 'attacks' they had finally let down their walls, finally considered letting someone in.

  
Finally letting themselves have a friend in this hellish war where you could easily lose them in a blink of an eye.

  
With a grunt, the soldier rolled over the side of the bed and marched toward the shelf. They glared at the winged ornament, the only one out of place. Everything else in the room was gained through determination and loss. Trophies of their accomplishments, a dented bullet, scratched up dog tags, even a bloodied scrap of uniform. This one, though, was given freely as a gift. It was supposed to be a symbol of faith, and trust in the darkest days. They remembered that day clearly, disappointment weighing down upon their shoulders. Their friend had reached into their pocket and withdrew a delicate angel, and said they would always stand together.

  
They blinked, registering the broken remains that lay at their feet. They found some sort of twisted satisfaction when the porcelain ground into a thin dust under their boot.  
Resolve hardened, the soldier strides out of the room, head held high. They immediately head to the shooting range, ready to train even more so than ever before. They felt an ugly pride when the targets were littered with precise dents.  
It was foolish really, soldiers did not make friends. They only had one goal.

  
To eliminate the enemy.


	8. Jealousy

  
Glazed eyes peer through misty panes, decorated with intricate icy swirls, while the teacher drones on, mute and unintelligible. Rose huffs, slouching even more in her seat until her chin is parallel with the desk, one hand lazily swirling a pencil between her fingers. Her books, normally laid out neatly, are beginning to slant, teetering dangerously towards the edge of the table. Rose can't bring herself to care, eyes still fixed on two figures standing close in the snow outside. One strays a bit closer, whispering into the other's ear and making him throw back his head in laughter, following closely with her own. The girl, Trinny, takes this chance to slide even closer and wrap an arm around his, while her remaining arm sweeps her hair back into a stylish wave. Flawless.

  
Rose growls, fingers tightening around her pencil and threatening to snap it in half, before her gaze lands on the male's features. Hadrian, or Harry as his close friends call him, of which she most definitely was. Is? They haven't seen much of each other these past weeks, Harry more inclined to spend his time with Trinny and her friends, accepting their invitations to party. More than once Rose finds herself reassuring him that it was no problem that he can't find time to hang out like they used to, ignoring the pang in her chest that seems to grow stronger with each restless night. She is sure that her little crush has been noticed, but this fear dwindles as time passes by, Harry passes by, without her.

  
The bell jolts her out of her pondering, head peering upwards to see students stretching or sprinting out of the room, eager for a break. She sighs, stuffing her books into her bag, hesitating when she spots a lone drawing, a mirror of the person outside and inked with shades of blue highlighting vibrant eyes and raven locks. Hastily she shoves it into her pocket and shuffles out of the room. Rose makes her way outside, chilled hands stowing away in her pockets and brushing up against the drawing, lost in thought as she meanders back towards the art building.   
'Rose?' Her head shoots up to see Harry jogging towards her before slowing to a halt. She fumbles for a minute before facing him completely.  
'Oh uh, hi Hadrian.' The name feels strange on her tongue, and she conceals a wince. She can make out a questioning furrow in his brow.   
'I was just wondering if we're still good for the movie marathon after school?' Rose's eyes widen marginally, an awkward cough making it's way out before she replies.  
'I....don't you have a party to go to?' Rose tries to hide her contempt, but can't help the bitterness from leaking into her words. He looks puzzled, and laughs nervously.   
'Nah, they get boring after a while, y'know?'   
'Even with Trinny around?' She didn't mean to vocalise that thought, and stiffens.  
'Definitely! You're not jealous are you Rosey?' His eyes crinkle as he teases her. She makes to deny it, but a lump finds it's way into her throat. Suddenly it's like her voice has been taken, helpless, so she ducks her head which makes her hair cascade over her face. There's a pause from Harry.  
'Rose? You're not...actually jealous are you?' Silence. She can feel her face heat up in embarrassment, making blood pound in her ears. Rose takes a deep breath and tilts her head back up. An incredulous giggle finally makes it's way out.  
'You're kidding right? Of course I'm not jealous of the most prettiest girl at school hanging out with you.' the sarcasm is forced and the joke falls flat.  
'I...Rose you're being ridiculous.' Condescending, she thinks. But there's something else there, something she can't make out in this moment. The only thing that registers is rejection from her year-long crush.   
'Just forget it' She mumbles, pushing past him to flee. She rushes ahead, deaf to his calls and rounds the side of the building.

  
From the corner of her eye, she sees a glint of perfect golden hair, and turns slightly. Trinny is staring at her, eyes narrowed, leaning casually against the red bricks of the art block. She can feel her cheeks burn a little more, and doesn't doubt her resemblance to a tomato. Trinny smirks, looking smug and confirming she had heard every single part of her bumbling confession. She runs past Trinny and finds refuge in her favourite art classroom. She checks to see if there are any remaining students from the previous lesson, but finds the room empty with splatters of paint left staining the desks. The blinds are already closed, art students more prone to migraines when working on their coursework. She locks the room, knowing that no one uses it at this time anyway, and slides down the door. She hits the floor with a faint thud but can't bring herself to care, hugging her knees to her chest. She breathes shakily, ducking her head in as well.

  
Only then does she allow her tears to fall.


End file.
